


The Father you'll be

by Cacilie_Blaas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst to Fluff in 1K let's goooo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I HAVE FEELS AND I NEED GROGU TO CALL DIN "DADA" SO THIS HAPPENED, One Shot, Parent-Child Relationship, The Mandalorian more like the Mandadlorian, post S2E07: The Believer, post chapter 15, the final is going to slay me send help already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacilie_Blaas/pseuds/Cacilie_Blaas
Summary: Back then, Din hadn’t realized what touch meant. Hadn’t known the priceless, boundless meaning of it, the intimacy and the love that every living creature needed to live. He had survived without any family touch for so long he almost tricked himself into believing he didn’t want it.Now, lies melted away._____________________________Or, the one where Din gets Grogu back
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu, The Mandalorian & The Child
Comments: 67
Kudos: 489





	The Father you'll be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viajeramyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/gifts).



> When I say I watched the episode tonight and this was written in the next 30 minutes, I'm not being dramatic. It basically wrote itself! And when I shared it with my friends Myra and Mai they simply told me to publish it, so here we go, this is for you two!
> 
> I hope you'll like my first fanfiction in the SW fandom, and who knows, maybe I'll end up writing more because these two just make me feel so much it has to go somewhere.
> 
> _____________________________
> 
> "Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la." // "Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.

Grogu was there.

He was _there_ , just a few feet away, and Din? Din was paralyzed.

Grogu’s little body looked _so_ small under the cold, harsh lights of the cell— smaller than he even remembered him being from all the time they had spent together since they found each other. And it made no sense, didn’t it? He had cradled the Child — _his_ child — through every nooks and corners of the Outer Realms. He knew his weight, his warmth, his touch— and still, every knowledge he had about Grogu faded away in this moment.

The need to hold his kid was overwhelming but fear choked him as surely as the day his world had collapsed under his feet, eons ago. Back then, Din hadn’t realized what touch meant. Hadn’t known the priceless, boundless meaning of it, the intimacy and the love that every living creature needed to live. He had survived without any family touch for so long he almost tricked himself into believing he didn’t want it. 

Now, lies melted away.

It didn’t stop the trembling of his hands. 

If Din didn’t move, if he simply observed the small sleeping form — because Grogu had to be sleeping, he _had to_ — hidden under a bundle of clothes that couldn’t conceal green pointy ears; if Din just stayed here, if he didn’t cross the distance separating them, then everything was still possible. Din’s sanity depended on it. This way, the worst might not have come to pass. Moff Gideon didn’t torture his child because of Din’s own failures. Grogu didn’t have to remember what being small and scared and _alone_ in the galaxy felt like. And maybe— just maybe— the collapse of his child didn’t mean _Din_ was alone again.

With the last of his will, Din took a step toward the tiny body lying on the ground. The clasps securing his gauntlets were quickly pried open and the dull sound of the gloves being discarded was soon followed by the rustle of Din’s armor as he kneeled.

The first touch was tentative, just a whisper of pressure that allowed him to breathe again. A heartbeat was fluttering under his fingertips.

Grogu was alive.

Emotions stormed in his chest, too violent and complex to think past it. He started shaking and the tightness of his armor, once a comfort and a home, suddenly oppressed him. He stayed here, hands hovering over Grogu’s body, unable to take what he needed, to hold onto that little life he cared for to the point of breaking every vows he took for the Creed that hold his sanity together for most of his life. 

His chest felt like it was encased in concrete, guilt and doubt fighting for dominance. Was he even worth it? His breath caught in his throat then and he careened into the self-loathing he’d been stifling, muted in his desperation to get Grogu back. Should he even be allowed to love Grogu so much, when all he could offer was the empty shell that was his life and the violence that followed him everywhere? He should do right by Grogu, should leave him to Ahsoka, or any Jedi that could somehow prove himself to Din. 

But he was selfish, he learnt. 

For the first time in years, he wanted. Wanted a family— _knew_ they were family.

And Din failed him.

He failed Grogu, he didn’t protect him. He made mistakes, fucking _stupid_ mistakes, and his kid was taken. Ripped from the safety of Din’s arms because he was, despite everything, the same powerless worthless idiot he had always been and he didn’t deserve—

The little hands that gripped his right thumb and the trilled “Hutu!” he came to associate with Grogu’s voice stopped his spiraling thoughts. Dark brown bottomless eyes looked up to him, soft fluffy ears twisted in his direction and a big smile ate Grogu’s face. A second questioning sound broke the silence and Din’s throat closed on itself, stopping him from talking. 

Awkwardly, he got rid of his helmet with his left hand.

It clattered on the ground and Din knew he should feel guilty about the lack of respect it shown just now, but the Beskar only served as a wall between him and Grogu and that couldn’t be allowed. Sweat that had been pooling in his hair dripped and Grogu’s face contortioned with disapproval and disgust when one drop almost touched him. It was terribly soft, mortally endearing, and a broken laugh strained against Din’s ribs and filled his lungs. 

Still, the strange little creature that adopted him didn’t relinquish his hold on Din’s finger. Instead, Grogu pressed himself against his hand, so obviously looking for comfort and reassurance Din felt hollow.

He cradled Grogu’s head between his hands, fingers reaching slowly behind to graze the soft fuzzy spot he loved to pet. It didn’t miss, and something close to a giggle escaped Grogu, his eyes fluttering with appreciation. It would have been enough to break Din’s chest open but Grogu, as always, decided to surprise him with a tentative, “Dada?”

“I—” 

“Dada!”

The word wrecked him, and soon Din was sobbing. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding in the terrified relief that crashed into him. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t breathe, and Grogu’s alarmed squeal made him finally reach out. He held onto him, hugging his son to his throat and breathing him in— and how could one feel so _so_ relieved without unravelling completely?

“Hey kid.” Grogu, finally back in the sanctuary of Din’s arms, looked up questioningly. His minuscule hands slapped softly Din’s face, running through the hot tears that found their way on his cheeks. It made his throat tight again, but he worked around the feeling to say, a tremor in his voice, “It’s nothing. It’s good. Don’t worry.”

“Dada?”

That word again. 

His salvation. 

“Yeah _ad'ika_ ,” Din answered, heart still wavering. “That’s me. I missed you.”

He leaned in and kissed Grogu’s wrinkly forehead. He got a pleased sound out of it and Grogu’s tiny tensed features relaxed completely. Din had known for a long time that his life was not his own, though he never knew what he was meant to forfeited it to. Now, as he brushed his nose against Grogu’s, Din finally knew he found redemption. 

A strange warm sensation that felt like Grogu washed over him then, and Din gave himself a moment, just _a moment_ to bask in it— unabashedly, unreservedly. 

He would have delighted in the safe humming feeling of the Force longer if not for Mayfeld’s voice breaking the peaceful connection with a snort. 

“Well fuck me,” he said, struggling with a laugh. “He has your big brown puppy eyes man.”


End file.
